“Absolutely.”
Celina gestured with the cookie. “And I trust you. I don’t put myself in just any hands, Dallas. To be honest, I’m afraid of this. But I’m more afraid of doing nothing. And you know what’s worse?”
“No.”
“I’m terrified I’ve been pushed into a new arena. That what I have, what I am, is moving down a path I never wanted for myself.” She hugged her right arm, rubbing it gently as if to soothe a spasm. “That I’m going to spend the next phase of my life seeing murder and violence, linking with victims. I liked my life the way it was. It makes it harder to realize it may never be just that way again.”
“And still you want me to contact Dr. Mira?”
She nodded. “The sooner the better. If I stall, I might lose the courage to follow it through.”
“Give me a minute,” Eve said as she pulled out her ’link.
“Oh. Right.” Celina rose, picked up the tea tray. She carried it into the kitchen.
With slow, deliberate moves, she put the clean cup and saucer away, set her own in the sink.
Then she laid her hands on her face, pressed her fingers to her closed lids. And hoped, with everything she was, that she was ready for what was coming.
“Celina?”
“Yes.” On a quick jerk, she dropped her hands, then turned to the doorway where Eve stood.
“Dr. Mira can see you tomorrow, at nine. She’ll need to do a consult first, and a physical exam before she agrees to hypnotherapy.”
“Yes, good.” She squared her shoulders as if adjusting to a weight, or shrugging one off. “That makes sense. Will you—could you be there?”
“If and when the hypnosis is approved, yes. Up until you’re set to go under, you can change your mind.”
Clasping a hand over the crystals dangling from her neck chain, Celina shook her head. “No, I won’t. I thought this through, up and down and sideways before I contacted you. I won’t change my mind. We’re going to move ahead. I can promise you, I won’t turn back now.”
Eve dashed in the house, slammed the door at her back. “I’m late,” she snapped before Summerset could speak. “But here’s the thing, I’m not always late, but you’re always ugly. Who’s got the real problem?”
Since she finished the question at the top of the stairs and kept going, she wasn’t annoyed with any reply he might have made.
She stripped off her jacket as she hit the bedroom door. Released her weapon harness and tossed it on the sofa. Yanked off boots by hopping one-footed toward the bathroom, and had her shirt off when she heard the water running.
Damn, he’d beaten her home after all.
She peeled off the rest. “Turn that water temp up.”
“Done. I adjusted when I heard the graceful patter of your delicate feet stomping about in the bedroom.”
Knowing Roarke wasn’t above being hysterically amused by having her scream after jumping into cold water, she stuck her hand in the spray first.
“Trusting soul,” he said, grabbing her hand and hauling her in. “Let’s stay home and make hot, wet love in the shower.”
“Forget it.” She elbowed him aside, pumped soap into her hand. “We’re going to dinner. We’re going to sit around somebody else’s house and make stupid conversation and eat food we don’t even get to pick for ourselves and pretend not to wonder exactly where in the apartment McNab and Charles punched each other out.”
“I can hardly wait.” He pumped shampoo and began to lather it into her hair.
“What are you doing?”
“Saving you time. What have you done here?”
She hunched her shoulders. “Nothing.”
“You have. You’ve been whacking at your hair again.”